


The Night We Met

by nahm



Series: clair et sombre [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alchol Dependant, Athos Doesnt Know How To Deal With Emotions, Athos Falling Apart, Athos Needs a Hug, Athos Treville Father/Son Relationship, Athos has Issues, Closet Alcholic, Drunk Athos, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Couple, Heavy Alcholic Behaviours, Hurt Athos, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Nee Friends to Lovers, POV Athos, Period Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Porthos Has A Hard Time Trusting, Pre Musketeers, Pre-Poly, Protective Porthos, Protective Treville, Secret Lovers, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, The Beginning, The Boys May Be OC, Treville Is The Father Athos Deserved, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahm/pseuds/nahm
Summary: For as long as he can remember Treville has always been there. When his world comes crashes down around him, Athos turns to the only place that’s been home. Only he discovers that it takes a lot more than skill and talent to be apart of the musketeers, especially when Porthos and Aramis make it clear they want nothing to do with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea’s been in my head for quite awhile and I’ve finally gotten an idea where I want it to go. Hopefully everything goes as plan, chapters will be posted as they’re written. Thank you reading!

Paris was always been a sore spot for Athos. It’s buildings towered around him, making him feel trapped and suffocated, it’s streets were littered with common people going about their daily business, making it nearly impossible to walk without bumping into another person. Growing up in the country, he’d only had to deal with a handful of people at all times. Servants, teachers and the occasional ball were the only patrons he’d ever had to interact with. 

His family had only come to Paris on request of the king, some plot his father had conspired to make them be more important than they actual were. Thomas had always loved the hustle and bustle of the city, he’d seemed to come alive, taking in the noise and atmosphere with stride. Athos had tried to stay as far from the people as possible, referring to be a shadow rather than the heir he was supposed to be. The only thing he’d ever enjoyed about Paris had been the Musketeers. 

His mother had taken him once to meet Treville, bragging how skilled he’d been in his fencing, how he’d surpassed every lesson his instructors had given him. During their first meeting Athos hadn’t been sure what to say to the man, he’d hidden behind his mother skirts, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his ears. How could he explain to the Captain that he went somewhere else when he fenced? All his worries, concerns, and anxiety disappeared when he practiced, his fencing sword was an extension of himself, apart of him in a way he’d could never properly voice. 

Without speaking Treville seemed to understand and gave him a knowing smile and a promise that he’d love to see him practice. Athos knew his father would never let the man come to the estate but the thought was nice. For once someone saw him as something other than the Comet in training. Over the years Treville made it a point to come and seek him out whenever they were in the city, asking him how his fencing was going, more often than not Athos couldn’t answer him, the words dying in his throat but the Captain always knew what he was saying. When his mother passed away Treville had been the one to find him huddled under a bridge, soaked to the bone and shivering from the rain and tears. 

It only made sense given the circumstances that Athos ran to the only place that ever felt like home. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Treville, he hadn’t exactly thought his plan out when he’d run, leaving behind his entire life and fortune. Much like everything else, it didn’t seem to matter, Treville stood outside his office, a grim look on his face, like he’d expected Athos to show up in the middle of the night, smelling of wine and death.

“Come in before you catch your death.” He muttered, sinking back into the dark office, leaving no room for arguments. Despite whatever resolve he had about being in the city, Athos followed him into the room, ignoring the feeling of dread on his bones as the door shut and locked behind him. “I’m trying to piece together why in God’s name your sleeping in the street and drinking yourself sick,” Treville started, his tone angry. “You damn well know you have a place here, but like all you damn la Fère your pride will be the death of you.” 

“I didn’t want to intrude.” Athos answered, wrapping the cloak the captain tossed his way around his body. “I’m a raging alcoholic, haven’t you heard?” It was no secret how much Athos loved to drink, it gave him a high nothing else seemed to, even fencing had never given him the quiet release booze did. “It’s the latest gossip in the families.” He knew Treville didn’t pay attention to the gossip but it was nice to rant to someone other than his late brother. 

“I hadn’t,” Treville pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. “I’m terribly sorry about Thomas, Olivier.” Athos had almost forgotten what his true name sounded like, he’d been going with his second for so long now Oliver felt like a different person. “Is that why you’re drinking so heavily again?” Treville had been there the first dozen or so times Athos had fallen into the dark hole of wine and had always been there to pull him back out. 

“No.” He answered, holding the cloak closer against his body. All he wanted was sleep and a nice hot bath. Things Athos knew would never come for him without work, he couldn’t just snap his fingers and have those things handed to him. He didn’t have to energy to explain how shadows followed him, taunting him in Thomas and Milady’s voice. He just wanted to sleep. 

Realizing Athos wasn’t going to give him any further explanation, Treville sets a pistol and sword across the desk, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what the hell happened, Olivier, I doubt you’ll ever tell me, but I was being serious when I said you have a place here.” Athos eyed the weapons, a scowl on his lips. “It won’t be easy, most men here have worked hard for the titles and positions they’ve been given and so will you.” Treville placed a gauntlet, with the Fleur-de-Lis engraved in the leather, in front of him. “You have the makings to be a great Musketeer, Olivier. If you can get past this darkness you keep wanting to drown yourself in.” 

“I’d hardly say I’m drowning.” Athos muttered in return, his thumb running across the Fleur-de-Lis slowly. “What makes you think I can be a Musketeer?” He didn’t have any of the training of the other men, he was a high born with to much previllage and freedom. He’d never had hardship or had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Athos, in truth, was the furtherest thing from a Musketeer. 

“I’ve seen what you can do, Olivier, you have passion and strength. You’re one of the best swordsmen I’ve met, these men they’ll need someone like you, someone to lead them eventually and with time I can see you becoming the type of man who is capable of leading them into battle. Don’t waste this opportunity, son. You deserve to be happy, to experience what life has to offer, I know things been difficult right now but you can change things, make a difference, France is going to need men like you, Olivier.” 

France didn’t need him, Athos knew Treville was only saying whatever he could to make sure he’d stay. In fact Paris and her children would properly be better off without him in the mist of trained men. On his good days Athos was deadly, on his worst he was lethal, caring about nothing and no one, as long as the images stopped haunting him. “You’re faith in me is impressive, Captain, but I’m hardly Musketeer material.” He wasn’t even sure he could stop drinking along enough to be a Musketeer, Athos had fallen so far into the drink he wasn’t sure if he could stop. 

“At least take the night to think about it, give me your answer in the morning,”Treville stood, handing him the bundle of supplies. “For now wash up, get some rest and I’ll speak to you in the morning.” There was no room for argument, even if he wanted to leave, Athos had no where to go. Treville offering him a bed and a safe heaven for the night was much more than he deserved. 

“Thank you..” Athos fought against the urge to lean into the older man as they walked toward the sleeping corridors. He was much to old for such things and far to important to stoop so low, only.. he wasn’t anymore. He had nothing and no one. Despite his fathers barking disapproval in his head, he leaned against the Captain, enjoying the strength and warmth Treville was radiating. 

“Sleep Olivier, tomorrow marks a new day.” 

“If tomorrow ever comes.” 

Treville rolled his eyes, shutting the door as he left. Athos knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he hadn’t had a proper nights sleep since that awful day, nightmares cling to his subconscious making it impossible to shut his body down. Tossing the supplies onto the bed, Athos grips the gauntlet tightly, staring the the engraving. If he couldn’t do this for himself, he’d do it for Thomas, who’d always told him that he would have been a great Musketeer, his brother always had the ridiculous notion that it was possible for Athos to throw everything away and run off to do what he loved. 

In a way he was right. Athos had nothing except for gauntlet and a family name that meant absolutely nothing. Slapping the gauntlet onto his right arm, Athos poured himself a large cup of wine and watched the sun rise in the distance, not knowing how much his life was about to change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone whose read! It means a lot. :)

Athos is one of few men awake in the early morning, the sun is barely in the sky when he drags himself out of the room into the court yard. Despite everything that’s changed his schedule is still heavily drilled into his subconscious, making it impossible to sleep more than a few hours at a time. His sword bounces against his hip as he walks through the garrison, ignoring the few straddlers lurking around. 

His feet take him toward the centre of the garrison where two man are practicing a set of drills; one is large and bulky, a mass of muscle and strength, his facial hair and strong eyebrows highlight his kind face and caring eyes. His movements are carefully thought out, well placed considering his size. His head of curls is tucked tightly under a bandanna, keeping the sweat and loose ends out of his face. 

The second man is two times smaller than the first, his body lean and firm, he doesn’t embody power but Athos better than most how deceiving a person looks could be. His hair is dark and long, framing his face to show off his Spanish roots. The hair on his upper lip seems like an afterthought, effectively showing off the contagious smile that takes up his entire face. He moves with a grace that is impossible to replicate, his steps are a dance, every action beautiful yet poisonous. 

The way they move around each other tells Athos that they’ve been partners for a long time, they know each other’s weakness and strengths and know how to properly play off of it. The larger of the men stops suddenly, the tip of the sword pointing directly at his throat, he doesn’t move other than to raise an amused eyebrow at the other man. “Stop cheating, Mis.” His voice is deep, engraved with a rich accent. There’s no anger with the statement only teasing. Like they’ve had this particular argument many times before. 

The sword lowers and the Spanish man grins, rolling his shoulders in a bored shrug. “It’s not cheating if you know your opponent.” His words are like a forgotten melody, swimming in sweet tones and memorizing breathes of fresh air. “Besides I wouldn’t have to cheat if you weren’t being predictable, come now Porthos, how many times have I told you to stop relying on your strength to hold you in a battle?” 

“I wouldn’t have to rely on my strength if you fought fair.” 

Porthos.. how fitting. Strong and powerful but kind and loyal. Much like the man in front of him, Athos expected. 

They haven’t seemed to notice him and Athos isn’t about to interrupt, he isn’t in the mood to introduce himself or explain how he’d come to be here. Watching them argue back and forth reminded him to much of Thomas and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He leaves the two man in the middle of the garrison and continues toward Treville’s office. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether he wants to join the regiments, if it been up to him he’d disappear and allow his demons to consume him, however he knows as along as Treville is alive he’ll never allow it to happen. Why he cares so much, Athos will never know. 

The captain is awake, much to his surprise, and is seated behind his desk with his arms crossed and a worried expression on his face. “You’re awake early.” He comments, as if seeing Athos this early is new. “Have you thought about my proposal?” Treville isn’t in the mood for his self doubts or ridiculous notions, he can see it in the frown on his lips. Even in his youth Treville had no room for his low confidence and self ridicule. He held Athos to a high stranded and expected the same out of him. Regardless how far he fell. 

“I think regardless of the answer I give you, you’re going to expect me to join. “Athos mutters a reply, leaning back into the chair with a heavy sigh. “I have some conditions. I want Olivier to die, no one outside of this room needs to know who I once was, I want a fresh start.” Something he damn well didn’t deserve but it was the only way he’d survive. “Athos will be the name I’ll take. Everything that happened in my past, my fortune, Thomas, all of it remains buried with Olivier.” 

“Very well, Athos is a fit name, a strong name. I expected the same dedication from you as every other man, Athos, I won’t give you any freedom just because I know you personally.” Athos never expected to him to and relaxes further hearing it come from Treville. “I’ve personally picked a pair of Musketeers for you to partner up with, the three of you should work well together, given your talent for stubbornness and brutality.” 

Athos tenses slightly, not having thought out what might happen if he’d been paired up with other musketeers, he doesn’t know why he expected Treville to place him a lower rank of the regiment and forget about him. “I don’t know if that’s-“ 

“Porthos and Aramis are great men and strong warriors, Athos. Don’t judge them before you have the chance to meet them. “Treville sends him a smile, the same one he usually only gives him when Athos doesn’t get what he wants. “And play nice Athos, they won’t be afraid to put you in your place.” 

Athos doesn’t even know where his place is anymore so it shouldn’t be that difficult. 

“They’re out in the training yard, go and introduce yourself. “He already suspected that Athos had run into them and scolded him for being unfriendly. “You three have a mission soon and I expected some form of truancy before then.” Not leaving room for Athos to argue back, Treville dismisses him with a wave of his hand, barley looking at him before returning to the stack of papers on his desk. 

Grumbling to himself, Athos leaves Treville and makes his way back outside. The garrison has come alive now, men starting to go apart their day. Athos wants to crawl back into his room and remain there for the rest of the day. The two man Treville has paired him up are sitting in the eating area with a bunch of musketeers, Porthos and Aramis sit so close it’s hard to tell were one ends and the other begins. He can’t help but wonder how no one else seems to notice how intimate they are. 

He isn’t about to go over and introduce himself, not with so many people surrounding them. Instead he heads toward the kitchens, in search for a glass of wine. Most of the garrison ignores him as he walks, however by the time he’s reached the kitchen whispers start around him and suddenly all the attention is on him. Athos tried to ignore the stares but he feels his back tense and his heart start to pound in his ribcage, the only sign that a panic is about to set in. 

He grabs the first glass he sees and sits down in the furthest bench he can find, he’s half hidden by the shade of the building, his grip on the glass is so strong Athos is afraid he’s going to break it. There’s a shadow blocking the only ray of sunshine Athos has and he has no choice but to look toward the source. The Spanish Musketeer from earlier stands in front of him, there’s a blue stash around his waist, making his uniform stand out, the hat on his head highlights his high cheek bones and faint freckles on his nose and cheeks. 

“You must be the new recruit Treville assigned to us.” His words are kind and airy. “ I’m Aramis.” His name fit perfectly just like everything else about the man, it’s beautiful and crafted effortlessly. “The big lug over there is Porthos. Don’t worry he’s mostly harmless unless your playing cards then he becomes like an untrained dog.”

Porthos seems to have sensed Aramis introducing him for he sticks his middle finger up in their direction, a wide grin on his face. Athos doesn’t know what to do, or say. Instead he takes a long sip of his drink, savouring the burn. “Your form is off.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, causing the grin to slip from the other man’s face. “You’re all over be place.” While he’d admired Aramis dance he’d seen how exposed it left him. One small opening was enough to kill even the most skilled swordsman. 

“How would you-“ 

“The pair of you should be more aware of those around you.” 

Aramis falls silent, a look of confusion passing over his face. “Maybe but things aren’t always what they seem.” Turning he heads back toward Porthos, leaving a sour feeling with Athos. He hadn’t meant to be judgemental, in fact he rather liked Aramis but his defences when up before he could even process what was happening. 

Porthos is up and in Aramis space, a look of anger on his face. He moves to head toward Athos but Aramis stops him briefly with a shake of his head. They exchange words before the larger man is stalking toward him, fury crashing off him in waves. Athos doesn’t flinch away, he looks him square in the eye when the bigger man growls. “If you’ve got something to say you best say it to my face.” There’s such passion in his words Athos has to pause for a moment. 

“All I said was his form was off.” His reply his quiet and standoffish. He doesn’t mean to be but it’s like his body have closed off any emotion other than aloofness. “Which is true, had you been a tad quicker you would have had him.” 

This only seems to make Porthos more angry, he has Athos by the front of his shirt, his eyes dark and dangerous. “You think you’re better than us?” All trace of the kind man he’d seen earlier is gone, he’s like a mother bear protecting its cub. “You’ve got a lot of talk for someone so small.” 

“Porthos!” Aramis has a hold of the larger musketeer, looking at him with a warning. “Let go of him for god sake, we don’t need to be starting fights.” 

“But Mis he-“ 

“I don’t care, release him.” 

Porthos tosses him back in the seat with little effort, sending a ping of pain through his back and a few of his ribs. Athos stares between the two of them, scowling. He hates how friendly they are with each other, how protective they are. “It wouldn’t be much of a fight.” He says. Knowing full well the affects his words would have. 

Porthos has his sword pulled before Aramis can stop him, taunting Athos forward. “Big talk for someone who hasn’t proved himself.” It’s been a few weeks since Athos has gotten into a fight with someone and his body easily slips into the proper stance, his sword coming free with a quick reflex. Aramis, having seen he’s unable to prevent Porthos from coming at him, rolls his eyes and steps away, muttering under his breath about them being two idiots. 

The entire Garrison is now gathered around them, watching and waiting to see if Athos can take on Porthos, Athos himself isn’t even certain he can, however right now it doesn’t matter. All he cares about is getting his muscles moving again and backing his reputation up, regardless of how torn it may be. 

“Try not to kill him, Porthos..”

“No promises.” 

Athos simply smirks, ready for when Porthos lunges for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve rewritten this three times and am still  
> unsure if I like it. Probably because I’m shit at fighting scenes. Thank you to everyone whose read/left kudos!

Porthos is more skilled than Athos was expecting. The larger man keeps up with him easily, his size more an asset than a burden. In all his years training he’s never come across someone who was able to strike like a cobra despite being the size of a gorilla. Porthos seems to have used what would have been a disadvantage on a lesser man to push himself forward. 

Every strike sends a shock through his body, Porthos has the lead and Athos is quickly losing whatever strength he’d stolen with the few hours of sleep he’d managed to force himself into. This is bad. He knows the second his body gives out on him, Porthos will be on top of him and Athos knows he doesn’t have the necessary skill or upper body strength to keep the larger man at bay. “You seem quiet,” His words are a taunt, laced with amusement and bewilderment. “Afraid you’re going to lose this battle?” 

Athos has only ever lost a handful of battles in his life, mostly because he’d thrown the match, wanting to feel the pain the wounds would bring. Even it meant causing unnecessary injury to his person he wouldn’t let Porthos win. He couldn’t. He doesn’t respond, using the temporary distraction to pull himself out and away from Porthos, their swords clashing. 

Porthos laughs, the sound is like a song; light but loud and bashful. Athos knows he’ll never be able to replicate or be able to forget that sound as long as he lives. He wants to keep it locked in his subconscious as long he can, despite how their relationship is likely to turn out, Athos will forever hold onto it, he doesn’t find out until much later that Porthos’ laugh would often be his salvation during the dark periods of his life. 

“You’re a quick little thing aren’t yeah?” Much like Porthos, people often assumed Athos couldn’t keep up with the strict regiment swordsman had to endure because of his size. Even as a child he’d been smaller than most boys his age, doctors thought he was ill, often scaring his mother with false likelihoods. Unlike Porthos, however, Athos smaller size makes it possible for him to move quickly and strike with lethal accuracy. Over the years he perfected his skills and used his size to his advantage, using people’s assumptions against them.

Porthos tossed his sword from one hand to the other, a wide grin slipping onto his lips. “Finally someone who can take a beating.” It didn’t surprise him that Porthos has fought through most the men here and beat every single one, with the expection of Aramis, if their earlier scuffle is anything to go by. “Don’t worry I’ll try and keep that adorable smirk on your lips.” No one around him reacted to his open comment, instead they were all focused on Athos and what he’d do next.

He knew he couldn’t rush Porthos head on, he didn’t have the strength to plow through him, he’d have to sneak around and get him from behind, when he was least expecting it. The larger musketeer waved him forward, falling back into a fighting stance. The garrison is quiet, waiting on baited breath for Athos to strike.

Upon realizing Athos wasn’t coming for him, Porthos left to meet him, the sword falling down toward his left, dropping down and dodging the attack, Athos brought his sword up just in time for the weapons to hit, sparks flying between them. “Smart, maybe you’re more skilled than I thought.” Porthos skids to the right as Athos moves to strike, only he doesn’t leap at him head on, instead he spins at the last second and ends up behind him, the point of his sword edged into his spine.

“Yield.”

Athos doesn’t realize how close he’s positioned himself to Porthos and it only dawns on him the second before the larger man’s elbow is digging into his spleen. The air is knocked out of his lungs, temporarily distracting him long enough for Porthos to turn around and punch him in the face, sending him spiralling down into the sand. Still being considerably hungover, it takes Athos a lot longer to recover from the surprise strike, he doesn’t register his nose is bleeding until Aramis is crouched in front of him, holding a wet clothes to his face. 

“You could have been a little more gentle, Porth.” He mutters, his voice heavy with a accent Athos finds rather appealing. “I think you’ve broken his nose.” It wouldn’t be the first time, he’d back talked his father once, out of spite more than anything, and had gotten slapped so hard it broke his nose in three places, it’s never been properly reset. Still a bit delirious, he takes Aramis help and lets the Spanish man put pressure on his nose, he’s only just noticed how he oddly smells of cinnamon and musket balls. 

“He had it commin.” Porthos mutters in return, picking up Athos’ fallen sword from where it had landed moments earlier. “He was being a cocky son of bitch, he couldn’t even put his pride-“ 

“Porthos, enough!” The snap that came from the healer’s mouth was harsh and dark, leaving no room for argument or comment. He never expected such dominance from Aramis, upon first impression it look as Aramis was the peace keeper, he had a aura about him that screamed caretaker, not fighter. Porthos however did roll his eyes and kneel down beside him, any trace of anger was gone from his face, he looked more concerned than anything. 

“I almost had you.” Athos mumbles, although his sure his words come out a bundle of unintelligible babble. His head is spinning and throbbing so painfully he suspects whatever he ate last night with end up all over Aramis if he doesn’t detach himself from the other man. The last thing wants is to appear more unstable than he already does.

Porthos grabs his face with such tender hands Athos feels himself blushing, he didn’t know it was capable for the large man to be so gentle. He titles his chin, getting a good look at his nose, a shadow of a scowl on lips. “He’ll be okay, it should heal, although it looks like this wasn’t the first time it’s been broken, you a fighter on top of being an ass?” He asked. Athos couldn’t tell whether or not he was actually curious or just busting his balls. He suspected the ladder. 

Aramis helps him to his feet, his hand resting on the crook of his back, he doesn’t comment about how close Athos suddenly is, if anything he pulls him in closer, steadying him. “You alright?” No. Athos hasn’t been okay for a long time, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been anything but melancholy. For the sake of whatever dignity he has left, Athos simply nods his head and pulls himself from the other man, ignoring the loud protest of his heart and soul. Aramis is warmth he hasn’t had in a long time. 

“You three, my office now.” Treville appears out of thin air, he’s unimpressed and annoyed, and Athos this time can’t stop his stomach from heaving and violently causing him to double over and be sick all over his boots. 

————

Athos would be annoyed if it hadn’t been for how awful he was feeling. Treville had always made it a point to be involved in his business, whether Athos wanted or not. He could count on one hand how many times his father had beaten him because he thought his relationship with the older man was more than platonic. Head throbbing, he sunk further in the chair on the other side of the desk, barely paying attention as he chewed Porthos and Aramis out.

“You are king’s men, not some drunkens in the street, drawling and causing a scene whenever you feel like it.” He’s not entirely angry, Athos has seen Treville when he’s angered, this was nothing compared to how dangerous the man was when he was pissed off. “Start acting like it.” He almost feels bad, this wasn’t their fault, Athos had started hte fight, he’d wanted to set a statement that he didn’t need them, that was he was to good for them, instead he’d just had his ass handed to him. 

It would have been sad how far he’d fallen if he actually gave a fuck. 

Treville sits back behind his desk, his hands folded together, there’s a crease of annoyance on his forehead but otherwise whatever fury he’d been feeling is slipping away. “I don’t know nor do I care what issues the three of you have, work it out, I swear on the king if I have to have this conversation again you’ll be mucking out the stables for six months.” 

“What the fuck-“ 

“Yes Captain, were terribly sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

He doesn’t know how Aramis does it but he’s managed to get Porthos toward the door without snapping a reply toward Treville, it amazes him how much respect they have for each other. “Don’t even get me started on you.” He hadn’t looked at the captain since he came in, to afraid of what he’d see. “You have a second chance here Athos and you’ve almost blown it within an hour.” He finally raises his eyes to meet Treville’s gaze, there’s no disappointment just sadness and that almost hurts more. 

“I never wanted a second chance.” He answers, not caring if Aramis and Porthos are still in the room. Let them see how fucked up he truly is. “You wanted me here Treville, I was more than happy to waste away-“ 

“Shut up, Athos.” Treville eyes are narrowed and dark now. He’s hit a sore spot just like he knew he would. Good. “I’m not going to sit here and let you waste your damn life away, now go and clean yourself up, You three leave in a few hours for Spain.” 

Athos waits until the others have left before turning away from Treville, he hates that he cares so much, he wished he’d forget about him like everyone else. “Why do you care so much?” 

Without looking up from the paperwork on his desk, Treville simple says. “Because someone has to Athos.”


	4. Chapter 4

The tavern they’ve chosen for the meeting is run down and sinking with age, the stretch of old wine and years of sex makes Athos scrunch up his nose in disgust. It makes sense that they’d pick a place like this to meet their informant, it however doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it. Aramis and Porthos walk through the bar like they own the place, their heads held high and their shoulders square. Athos suspects they’ve been here more than once, judging by the lack of stares the two men are receiving. People do however turn to look at him, eyes narrowed and hostile. 

“How can you be certain he’ll meet us here?” He finds himself asking, trying to sink away from the stares. He’d been raised to hold himself up to those beneath him but Athos has never been able to latch onto that particular lesson. “This place hardly seems secure.” It wasn’t. He doesn’t need to be near any of the patriots to know that each and everyone of them was carrying a weapon. In a place like this, stationed so far out of town no one even bothered to send guards, you had to take up arms to protect yourself. 

Porthos waved his hand lazily, smirking. “He’ll show.” He was so confident that Athos had a difficult time not believing him. “He’s not one to miss out on a free drink.” He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this operation. He was the type of person who needed to have a plan thought out and fully discussed, going in blind was making his anxiety sky rocket. “There is however a problem.” Athos sits with his back to the wall so he’s able to watch the room with ease. “You’re going to have to meet him on your own.” 

He nearly chokes on the drink Aramis brought over, “What makes you think I’d ever do such a thing?” Porthos is grinning behind his own glass, his eyes mischievous. Athos would almost be angry if the idiots eyes weren’t so captivating. 

Aramis is the one that slaps him across the back, granting oxygen back into his lungs. His finger tips remain on his spine, his free hand bringing his own glass of wine to his lips. “It’s not a question of whether or not you’d do it.” He explains, he to is smirking, only irritating Athos further. “We don’t have a choice but to send you alone. Dorian knows Porthos and I — we have a complicated history —and Treville would rather there not be blood spilled.” 

There’s a hint of something else in his tone that Athos doesn’t recognize but knows whatever happened between the three men has more to do than just bad blood. “What makes you think he’ll tell me anything?” Aramis’ hand on his back is effectively calming his nerves, finally making his leg stop bouncing under the table. Athos had never met Dorian before, the man could easily refuse to relay the information he knows and fuck them over. 

“Treville sent a memo earlier explaining the situation and that you’d be coming in our place, don’t worry, Athos, everything will be okay. Porthos and I will be close if you need us.”

Athos didn’t know how to explain to them that it wasn’t a question of needing them, he had a hard time making small talk with the people he knew, there was no way he’d be able to talk to a complete stranger. “Refusing this ridiculous plan doesn’t seem to be an option..” He mutters more to himself than anyone else.

Porthos leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, a relaxed look on his face. “I mean you always could, we’d just have to go back to Paris and explain why we don’t have the information we were sent out here to return, which will of course piss him off considering he’d have to deal with the Cardinal-“ 

“Alright, Porthos, I get it.”

Aramis removes his hand, leaving Athos feeling cold, to push Porthos in the shoulder, almost sending the larger man to the floor. “Stop teasing him, Porth, it’s clear he’s not comfortable.” It amazes him how quickly Aramis has picked up on his cues. They’ve only known each other for little over a month and Aramis has him down pat, before he can even speak most of the time the Spanish Musketeer is asking him if he’s alright or changing his behaviour to make sure he was okay. 

Porthos to is starting to pick up on his little habits, he watches what he teases him about now, his words filtered and carefully thought out. He’s also become more protective of him, he comes to his defence so quickly often times Athos isn’t even sure what happened, which is a weird feeling, Athos has always been the protector not the protectee, it’s strange being on the other end. 

Despite all this, he still keeps them at an arms length, terrified of what might happen if he lets them in. Athos knows he isn’t ready for their level of intimacy and he suspects he never will be. 

“He’ll be fine, Mis, besides like you said we’ll be close.” It wasn’t like Dorian would try anything, Porthos would be on him in a second, once Aramis was finished with him of course. 

Polishing off his drink, Porthos stands, beckoning Aramis to follow him. “Salbutamol will be coming in ten minutes, we’ve left instruction with him, no one else should approach your table, If they do just flash them one of your favourite scowls.” He laughed deeply, smirking at him. “That’s the one!” 

“You’ll be fine, amour.” Aramis gives him a smile before following Porthos out the door, leaving Athos blushing and highly confused. 

Ten minutes have come and gone, the high Aramis had given him with the intimate nickname has also disappeared, leaving the feeling of anxiety in his mouth. Athos orders another round of drinks, the bar keep eyes him as she sets the glasses down, but doesn’t say anything. The tavern has gone quiet, only a few strangling men sit at the bar, gossiping to themselves. He’s just about to give up and call it a night when the front door opens and bulky man enters. 

Athos watches him the entire time, keeping his hat hung slightly over his eyes. The man whom he assumes is Dorian walks straight over to his table, eyeing him like he’s his next meal. “You Athos?” His voice is dark and haunting, the complete opposite of the men he’s been partnering with. 

“That depends on whose asking,” His old habits kicking in immediately. Athos pulls whatever anxious feelings aside and lifts his head to beacon the man to sit, his arms resting on top of the table. He hadn’t been completely sure what to expect from the man, the messy red hair and sharp features certainly weren’t it. He looked to much like Thomas for comfort and it only pisses him off more when Dorian takes one of his glasses to himself. 

“You’re Treville’s boy.” He states, sipping the wine carelessly. Had he been anyone else Athos would have decked him. “New meat in the regiment doesn’t happen often, word gets around.” Dorian clarified upon noticed Athos’ raised eyebrow and confused look. 

Athos leans back in his chair with a shake of his head. “I’m no ones anything.” He muttered, not liking the feeling of Dorian knowing more about him than he should. “Do you have what you came to deliver? I would rather spend my time else where.” The atmosphere in the tavern was becoming to closed off for Athos’ taste. 

Dorian slid his hand across the table, sitting a piece paper in the middle, there’s a mess of scribbles on the old parchment, Athos only recognizes the writing from his family’s stays at the palace. Why it was in the hands of a Spanish ambassador is beyond him. “Not even Porthos and Aramis play thing? That surprises me, they’d eat something like you right up.” His hand clasp down hard on his, squeezing tightly. “This information doesn’t come easily, why don’t you tell Porthos and Aramis to pay what they owe me,” Dorian leans forward, their faces almost touching. “Or you could.” 

Unamused, Athos snatches his hand away, a dagger edged into the wood beside Dorian’s, the metal gleams against the tavern’s dim lights. “I don’t know who think I am or what relationship I hold with Aramis and Porthos is, but I’d make sure to watch what your implying.” He stands slowly, looking down long enough just to meet Dorian’s eyes. “As far as I’m concerned Aramis and Porthos don’t owe you a damn thing, next time you disrespect either of them, I’ll dig that dagger into your neck.” 

Dorian smiles a wicked grin, leaning back in his chair. “I see they’ve already affected you. I’d be careful, men like them don’t quit until they have what they want — and what they want will have you hanged.” 

Trying to ignore Dorian and the pit in his stomach, Athos grabs his sword and pistols before storming toward the doors, he passes Porthos and Aramis as he does, both men turn to stare at him as he stalks back in the direction of home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone who read the horrible first chapter 5, writers block got the better of me and it just wasn’t working. I like this version a lot better. In others news I bought a book series souly because Athos was on the cover. Thank you for reading! <3

Athos stalks through the woods, he moves with determination and annoyance, needing to be as far as possible from the two men following him. He wasn’t angry with Aramis and Porthos, far from it, he’s upset about the circumstances that led them here. He hates how quickly Porthos and Aramis are worming their way past his defences, breaking down every barrier he’s put up without even trying. 

He decides he hates Dorian. His smirking face and over confident attitude makes him want to punch him in the mouth, Athos naturally isn’t a violent person, until recently he’s avoided confrontation, preferring to use his wits rather than his fits. However the thought of that vile man laying with Aramis and Porthos makes him see red and it takes everything in him to stop himself from turning around to beat the shit out of him. 

“Athos!” Porthos deep voice vibrates through his body, bringing forth the uncomfortable imagine of the large Musketeer whispering promises of love and warship to Salbutamol. Never before has Athos been so jealous of someone, he really has no reason to be, as far as he knows nothing has ever happened between Dorian and his boys. Expect Athos cant be certain that’s true. “You know for someone so small, you’re quick as fuck.” Porthos breathes, bracing his hands on his knees. “Where are you going in such a hurry, did something happen?” 

Had Porthos not been standing in front of him Athos would have kept walking, but he’s twice the size of Athos and is impossible to move aside. He’s tried on many occasions to move Porthos, but he’s like an unmovable mountain. “Back to Paris.” He growls, hardly recognizing the bite to his tone. His attitude has improved ten folds in the last month, it shocks him of quickly all his hard work’s vanished. “We have what we came for.” He hates the look of hurt that flashes in Porthos’ eyes and he almost feels guilty.

“What did he say to you?” Porthos demands. In his short time knowing the taller man, Athos has quickly picked up his small cues when he’s angry or upset, his voice gets deeper and holds a more depressive rhythm, his warm brown eyes vanish into a pit of blackness, Porthos never outright says when he’s upset but it’s not hard to figure out if you know what to look for. 

Athos frowns, hating that he’s caused the dark cloud that’s settled on Porthos to form. “He didn’t say anything,” He wasn’t sure why he was lying through his teeth, maybe it was easier than seeing how hurt Porthos would be. “You should focus your energy on something other than my well being, you’ll survive longer.” 

His arm is around him suddenly, surrounding Athos is a shroud of comfort and protectiveness. “Now why would I do that?” He asks, smirking down at him, it still amazes him how quickly Porthos is to calm down, just as quickly as the anger had come it vanished, leaving only love in its place. “You’re far to self confidence and self hating for your own good, Athos.” 

Athos doesn’t get the chance to respond, his face is cupped in the healing hands of Aramis, their noses almost touching as the Spanish Musketeer looks him over, there’s an urgency to his actions that causes Athos to blush. “I’m going to kill him,” He swears, they all know he won’t, despite killing being one of the main occupations of their job Aramis always have a difficult time ending someone’s life. “Did he harm you?” Not physically no, but his mental state took a hard hit. Not that he’d ever voice that out loud. 

The closeness of Porthos and Aramis is becoming to much, he can feel himself starting to unfold and the last thing he wants to fall apart completely in their arms. He pushes himself free of their hold and sighs deeply. “It wasn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before, I’m fine.” All his anger has left him, leaving only a empty hole, Athos knows if he would allow them to Aramis and Porthos would fill it with all the love they had to offer.

It terrifies him how quickly he’s become attached to this two idiots. 

Aramis looks hurt for a second that he pulled away but it’s gone before Athos can say anything. He takes the letter from his hand and unfolds it, a confused look on his face. “Why would Treville send us all the way here for this?”

Athos suspects that Treville wasn’t the one who’d sent them to Spain, not directly, this is the work of the cardinal and his scheming ways. “It doesn’t matter why,” He reaches for the letter but Aramis holds it out of his reach, staring at him. “Whatever it is isn’t any of our business, Aramis, we were just sent to retrieve it.” 

“You aren’t even a little bit curious?” 

“Hardly.” 

Porthos snatches the paper from them both, it looks so fragile in his hands, but he doesn’t even crumpled it. Athos is sure this warrants treason, it doesn’t feel right. “Holy shit.” Porthos looks up at them, shaking his head. “I’m not entirely sure what it says, there’s a lot of legal mumble jumble but it looks like the King is about to propose to princess Anne.” No wonder Richelieu had wanted the document, with Louis marring the Princess it would strip away a part of his power. 

“Put it away, Porthos, the last thing we need is for it to fall into the wrong hands-“ 

The silent woods around them exploded with noise, birds flying high into the sky to avoid whatever was coming. Athos has his sword out in an instance, the letter folded and tucked away behind his jacket. A small army of men pools into their small clearing, lead by Dorian.

Athos should have punched him when he had the chance.

Dorian’s arms are folded over his chest, there’s a cocky smirk on his face, he walks with confidence toward Porthos, completely passing by Athos. “Porthos, I was beginning to think you two forgot about me, you sent your pet instead, not that I didn’t enjoy looking at him.” His heart clenches in his chest as Porthos regards the other man with a small but joyless smirk. 

“He is something to look at.” Porthos replies, looking over Dorian’s head to meet his eye. “How could anyone forget you?” Theres no love to the statement, he’s angry and on the defence. “You don’t make it easy.” Something had happened between the three of them, something other than what Athos was expecting. 

He didn’t realize that Aramis had moved himself in front of Athos, shielding him and keeping him out of range. “Fuck off Dorian, you didn’t learn your lesson from the last time?” His back is tense, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, Athos has never seen Aramis this anxious before. 

“Trust me, I learned plenty.” Dorian’s eyes are hungry and haunted, Athos hates how he looks at them like they’re meals. “Unfortunately you two never seem to do, I’m going to need that document back, now hand it over or I can shoot pretty boy.” Athos didn’t feel the arms around him until it was to late and there’s a pistole pointed at his temple. “It’s your choice really.”

Aramis has his own pistole out, pointing toward the man holding Athos hostage. “Release him, Dorian, now!” He snarls, his voice laced with venom and hatred. 

Dorian moves around Porthos, his eyes drinking him in, there’s a lust in his gaze that makes Athos uncomfortable. “You and I both know you won’t shoot him, Aramis, especially with pretty boy there in danger, here’s what’s going to happen, you’re going to reach into his pocket, grab the letter and give it to me and then I’ll think about letting you go.” 

Athos knows Salbutamol not likely to let them go, especially if he’s double crossing France, they know to much and keeping them alive is a liability. “Fuck you, Dorian.” Porthos growls, moving to step in, Salbutamol moves quickly, his sword tip pointed directly at his neck. 

“You’d love that wouldn’t you, Porthos.” 

Porthos doesn’t reply as Dorian holds him hostage, his eyes narrowed. “I have no damn idea what your talking about.” Theres so much honesty in his voice Athos has trouble believing otherwise, however   
Dorian doesn’t like his answer, his face twists into a dark expression, his grip on the sword tightening. 

With Dorian distracted Athos knows he only has a small window to act. His elbow comes down hard in his captors stomach, causing the man to stumble back and release him, but not before Athos punches him in the face. He can feel Aramis staring at his back as he kneels down to pick up his sword, a sense of familiarity overwhelming him. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Athos hadn’t realized that Dorian had taken his attention off of Porthos, putting both Aramis and himself in firing rage. “It’s a shame, the regiment needs good men like you, Aramis, I’d apologize but it wouldn’t be sincere.”

“What are you-“ 

Athos is moving before he can stop himself, instinct takes over as a shot echoes through the woods and all he knows is black.


	6. Chapter 6

Athos straightens the tie around his neck with a frown, his hands shaking as he struggles to pull the end through the finally knot. “How is it your a grown man and you can’t tie a tie?” Thomas scoffs from where he’s leaning against his door, teasing him. The wood floors creak as his brother walks over to him, he stops behind him, grinning.

In the mirror Thomas is a foot taller than him, his hair bright and combed back, highlighting his freckled nose and bearded face. He reaches around and takes the tie from Athos, scoffing. “I swear your worse than a child sometimes.” It’s hard to remember that he’s supposed to be the older one, Thomas has been taking care of him for so long it feels like their roles have reversed. 

“Fundamentals.” Athos answers, gently glaring at his brother through the glass. Thomas simply rolls his eyes, pulling the end of the tie through the final loop. “Besides I can tie a tie.” His hands were just shaking so badly at the moment it was impossible to do. “I just don’t like to.” The question of how many drinks he’d had the night before hangs between them but neither of them brings it up. 

“Father is expecting us in the loft in two minutes so it’s probably best if I finish it.” Thomas moves to his front, straightening the tie until it was perfect and nearly chocking Athos. “Try and do one thing tonight, Athos.” He was the only one that called him by his second name, Athos has never heard Thomas call him Olivier. “Don’t drink to much, don’t give father the excuse to punish you, we both know he’ll be looking for one.”

It wasn’t like Athos went looking for ways to piss his father off. More times than not he could just be breathing and Francis wanted his blood. “I don’t drink that much.” They both know he does but being defensive is the only thing Athos knows. He’ll probably deny being a drunk until the day he dies. 

“Uh huh.” 

Thomas runs his fingers through his hair, calming him and any of the anxious thoughts clinging to his skin. It’s in this moment he knows no matter what happens he’ll be okay. As long as he has his brother. “Athos.” The room around him suddenly shifts, he’s no longer in his bedroom but in one of the living rooms, the room is dark, the only light is coming from the window and it’s pooling around the body of Thomas. 

“Tommy..”. He drops to his knees, his good slacks submerged in the sticky blood surrounding his brother. His entire body shakes as he reaches for Thomas, “No no no.. Thomas wake up!” He begs, whimpering as he clings to his little brother. “Please, you cant leave me all alone...” 

The room is deadly silent, not even the servants have come running. Athos was positive they would have heard his scream, however the house is deserted. There isn’t a single soul around, it’s only Athos and his deceased brother. Gently laying Thomas back down, he cups his face, pressing their foreheads together, tears streaming down his face.

There’s hands on his cheeks, they’re so cold Athos lifts his head, Thomas is up and staring at him. Frightened he slumps back, his eyes wide as he looks at his brother. “Athos, you have to wake up.” His words are gurgles, barely recognizable from the blood pooling out of his mouth. “Wake up! Wake up!” 

“Athos, you need to wake up.” 

His body jolts awake, a scream ripping from his throat, he grabs ahold of whoever has of him and practically throws himself into their lap. Strong, protective arms come around him, holding him and gently rocking him back and forth, they’re whispering something to him but Athos is so out of it he can’t make out the words. 

“I’ve brought some more supplies and something we could make for dinner-“ A smaller frame has joined them, seeming to centre Athos even further, his breathing is starting to calm and his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to give out on him. “I need to look over him Porthos, you need to let go of him.” 

Porthos only tightens his hold on him. “You didn’t see him, Mis, I’ve never seen anyone jolt out a dead ass sleep like that before, something scared him so badly he’s only just stopped shaking.” Athos must have missed the part of the conversation about Aramis discovering he was awake. He can’t even remember him coming back into the room. 

Aramis runs his fingers down his back, soothing whatever left over tension was in his body. “I know but he might have pulled his stitches out, I need to make sure the wound didn’t open back up.” Porthos is gentle with him when he moves him back enough for Aramis to look at the wound in his abdomen.

Wound.. oh right. He’d been shot. 

His eyes shut as Aramis presses his hands against his stomach, enjoying the relief the healers cold hands bring to his skin. He isn’t sure how he feels about being shot, this is only the second time it’s happened, once before he’d step in front of Salvatore Willing when he’d threatened Thomas, instead of his little brother getting shot, Athos had taken the bullet. 

Athos apparently is making a habit of getting shot for the people he cares for. That in itself was a strange thought, he’s only known Aramis and Porthos for a month and he feels the same level of love and devotion he had for Thomas. He was definitely screwed with them. 

“Athos,” Aramis honey voice pulls him back from his thoughts. “You need to open your eyes, amour, can you do that for me?” He’s so calm and gentle with him, Athos finds it hard to believe just hours before he’d been a fury of anger. With tremendous effort Athos open his eyes and look up toward Aramis, there’s a faint smile on his lips, his eyes are glossed over with worry but he somehow still makes him feel safe and comfortable. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit.” He answers, although he’s certain his words only come out slurred. He needs a drink, or two. Whatever would take the pain and the image of Thomas away. “Remind me next time not to take a bullet for you.” He of course isn’t serious, Athos suspects he’d do just that and more. He already cares to much about Aramis and Porthos to even find his own sarcasm justified.

“Or next time don’t get shot.” 

Porthos’ heavy laugh vibrates through Athos, calming his nerves. “How about both of you don’t do anything stupid to get shot?” He’s teasing them but Athos knows he’s being serious, he can only imagine how painful the last few hours have been for them both. 

They all know they can’t possible keep that promise. In their profession one of them was most likely bound to be shot. Aramis nods anyway, as if to settle Porthos’ shaking fears and continues to look over Athos, he’s to quiet for his taste, in the short month Athos has known Aramis he’s never known the man to be quiet about anything. 

“How soon can we travel?” He asks, pushing the concern to the back of his head. If Aramis wanted to talk about it he would, Athos wasn’t about to push him. “Treville’s properly expecting us back by now.” The Captain was going to kill him, once Athos was properly healed and rested of course. Treville always made sure Athos was taking care of himself, whether he wanted it or not. 

Aramis’ hand lingers on his chest for longer than necessary, a sigh escaping his lips. “Technically we can travel now, if you don’t open your stitches again.” He lets go of Athos’ tunic and let it fall back in place, hiding the dried blood and bandages. “I would prefer if you rested longer but I doubt you’d listen to me anyway.”

“He probably wouldn’t.” Porthos adds in, causing Athos to roll his eyes, slowly but surely he pulls himself out of the large man’s embrace to stand, his legs only wobble a little but he remains up right much to his relief. “Stubborn as a mule this one is.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Porthos only smirks in his direction, close enough to him just case he toppled over but far enough to give Athos his space as if he could sense the anxiety suddenly gripping him. “We should rest for the night,” Athos mutters out, all the energy he thought he had vanishing. Treville could chew his ass out later right now Athos just wanted a drink. 

“It’s not safe to sleep out here, especially not with your wound, we can make it back to Paris in a few hours.”

“Mis, he’s not going to make the horse ride, look at him he’s practically sleeping on his feet.” 

He wasn’t, Athos just wasn’t in the mood to hoist himself back onto his horse. “I know you don’t want to stay out in the snow because of what happened but it’s different now, Aramis, you have Athos and I with you.” 

Athos looks toward Aramis, a frown slipping on to his face, what had happened that made Aramis so afraid to sleep in the snow? Whatever it was, on top of Athos being shot, has shaken Aramis so much he doesn’t even argue, instead he stands with a shake of his head before vanishing back into the woods toward where they’d tied up their horses. Porthos watches him go with a dark expression, unsure whether or not to follow after him. 

“Go after him, Porthos, I’m fine.” He said, waving him off with a hand, Athos could take of himself for a few minutes, he had been fending for himself since childhood, he’d be fine. 

Porthos squeezed his arm, giving him a tight smile before turning and taking off after Aramis. Athos didn’t exactly know what Aramis was going through, what he did know was that he didn’t like the lost expression on his face and he was determined to figure out what happened to cause it. 

Grabbing the hidden flask in his jacket pocket, Athos slid back down to the ground, his back pressed against a tree and slowly sipped the wine, it’s burn nowhere as warm as Porthos. Athos had no way of knowing that only a few feet away, Aramis was falling apart and Porthos was the only thing keeping him ground and despite their harsh beginning Athos was quickly becoming a huge part of their lives. 

No matter how much he wished it wasn’t true, Athos knew he wouldn’t change it for the world. For the first time in years if felt like he could breathe again and that was something he’d forever be grateful for.

Porthos and Aramis were everything. 

As Athos drank he couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto his lips, despite his issues he was slowly beginning to discover that maybe just maybe there was a light in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part 1 — part 2 Born To Be Yours will be coming soon! Thank you to everyone whose been reading! It means a lot :)


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